Memories He Didn't Remember
by Lolee
Summary: A quiet drive and an old song bring back things Dean didn't remember and a night he wishes he could forget. Dean Angst! Follows IMTOD.
1. Chapter 1

The boys were burning the midnight oil, tearing up the pavement. Well…Dean was.

Dean's eyes ran down the windshield and across the dash. They slipped past the air vents and landed on Sam's big foot pinned to the dash.

Dean chuckled to himself as he glanced up at Sammy and thought about the adult that little boy had become.

Look at him. My best friend. He's a grown man, he holds his own in every situation, takes care of everyone around him, and keeps me in line. And now he's in the front seat of my car snoring and drooling.

The air outside was cold but calm. The only wind that blew was created by the pace of the car. It was quiet. An uncomfortable quiet.

A little music won't wake the sleeping giant.

Dean's right hand left the steering wheel and settled on the radio. He clicked it on and the rhythm of Johnny Watson filled the car. Dean let the sounds sooth him. As he listened he allowed the low rumbles of the bass take him over. His breathing was relaxed, his heart rate slowed a little, and his blood pressure dropped. Music always calmed Dean, weather it was slow and soulful or loud and angry.

So Dean sat in his car, cutting through the night, with Sammy asleep in the seat next to him. All was not right, but things were good. Dean felt good.

The song came to an end and the next followed it immediately. Guitar strings. The pace picked up. Then Drums. Together. He knew the song, he had heard it hundreds of times. But this time it cut Dean like a knife. Every muscle in his body went taut. He clenched his jaw and his grip on the wheel tightened.

I see the pale moon risin'.

I see trouble on the way.

I see earthquakes and lightning.

I see bad times today.

He was tense. The music irritated him. His back started to hurt. His head started to hurt. He shifted in his seat. What the hell? He couldn't get comfortable. His heart rate picked up and his breathing became labored.

Hope you got your things together.

Hope you are quite prepared to die.

Looks like we're in for nasty weather.

There's a bad moon on the rise.

Dean put his foot on the brake pedal and eased the car off the road. He needed a second: catch his breath, stretch his muscles.

As the car came to a stop Sammy woke up.

"What's going on?" He innocently asked, only half awake.

He looked over at Dean and saw his brother's face was flush. Then he heard it. 'Bad Moon Rising'. The unofficial soundtrack to the beginning of the end.

Sammy lunged forward and turned off the radio.

"Dean! Are you okay?"

Dean slowly turned and looked at Sam.

"Yeah, I think. I just needed to take a break for a minute. I uh, I don't know". Dean swallowed hard, "I just got this feeling and my chest got tight and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't concentrate on the road. I don't know what happened".

Sammy knew. It was the song reminding him of what happened. Dean had never talked about being attacked by the demon or nearly dying. Both boys had focused on John's death and what they had lost. Sam knew that what happened to Dean that night would come up eventually.

And now it had.

"Come on, let's get some air".

Sam got out of the car and Dean followed suit. Dean rolled his neck and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. The two boys started moving down the shoulder of the highway.

"You doing alright?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I'm feeling a little better".

Sam stopped and turned to Dean, "It was the song, man".

"What are you talking about?" Dean honestly had no idea what Sam was talking about.

"That song. That's what was playing in the car the night of the accident".

Sam stopped for a split second to allow Dean to process what he was telling him. "I didn't turn it on, it just came on the radio when I was driving to the hospital. Don't you remember?" Sam inquired.

Dean's mind flashed back to that night. There was a lot about that night that Dean didn't remember because he wouldn't let himself remember. But now he needed to, so he closed his eyes and allowed the events of the evening to come to him.

Dean remembered his father's possessed body and the fear he felt as the demon tore into his flesh. He remembered the overwhelming need to protect his family. He remembered being pinned to that wall and trying so hard not to pass out, but losing it anyway when the pain was too much. He remembered falling to the floor, begging Sam not to shoot John. He remembered how wrong it felt to him to need someone else so much. He remembered Sam picking him up off the floor like a limp doll and carrying him to the car…seeing his own blood on Sammy's jacket.

There on the side of an abandoned highway Dean looked at Sam's jacket where the blood had been…and he started to lose it a little inside.

Dean covered his face with the palm of his hand and took a deep breath. He paced in front of the car. He stopped and glared at the grill of the machine.

"Let's get out of here", Dean said.

He tossed the keys to a silent Sam.

"Dean", Sam started.

"Let's go", Dean snapped as he yanked open the door to the impala.

Sam reminded himself, this is how Dean deals. He wished that Dean could learn and understand that bottling it up and holding it in and not talking about it only makes things worse. He wished he could give his brother what he learned from Jessica's death. But for now all Sam could do was get behind the wheel and drive till he found a motel. Dean would want to sleep soon.

The radio was off. The boys rode in silence for about an hour before Sam came up on a motel. The brothers checked in and headed to the poorly decorated room.

"You wanna get something to eat?" Sam asked once they were in the room.

"No. I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed", Dean told Sam as he rummaged through his duffle.

"Alright. Well, I'm going to order a pizza", Sam said as he waved a flyer in the air. "It'll be here when you get out of the shower if you decide you're hungry".

Dean went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He turned on the shower, stripped down, and climbed in. That's when Dean let go. He let one tear fall then he couldn't stop them from coming. Dean leaned against the shower wall and cried. He cried for everything he lost, for everything he didn't have, for everything he wanted, for everything he needed, and for everything he feared. And as he cried he took solace in knowing that Sam would never know. Dean washed up and got out of the shower feeling lighter.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom he found Sam sitting on his bed with a piece of pizza in his hand and his mouth full. It made Dean smile. He took the towel from around his neck and rolled it in the air before he snapped Sam on the back of the neck.

"Hey!" Sam yelped.

"Sorry Sammy. Couldn't help it…you're like a sitting duck".

"You want some?" Sam gestured to the pizza.

"Yeah, pass it this way", Dean accepted.

As the pair sat eating pizza right out of the box Sam made one last attempt at breaking his brothers armor.

"When you're ready to talk about it, you know I'm here Dean", Sam offered.

Dean scoffed, "Didn't I tell you about a year ago that there would be no chick flick moments?"

**A/N: Alright kiddies…is that it?? Should I continue and add more Dean angst?? Let me know! PLEASE REVIEW! I'm waiting to hear if you want more….**

**Thanx for reading…by the way!**


	2. Changes and Evolution

**Hey People! Thank You for the reviews and please keep them coming!! I don't know exactly where this thing is going, but when I started this chapter it started to write itself. It's a little long but its good…I promise!!!**

Almost twenty-three years Dean had been doing this. Sure, it had changed and evolved along the way, but when the doors were locked and the guns were loaded and waiting at the bedside table, it was really all the same.

When it was Dean and John and Sam it was always the same: Kill the big bad that goes bump in the night, explain away the previous days occurrences to the fuzz, last minute instructions for the family left behind _'Stay away from it and don't touch the ashes…salt lines at the doors and windows just in case…call us if there is a problem'_, grab the gear and Sammy and roll out of town.

When Sam left for California it changed a little, but not much really. All of their new stories carried the same basic plot line: find it, kill it, talk your way out of a night in the lock up, pack up camp, wave off the poor souls you just saved from God knows what, and follow Dad to the closest bar and see who would drink more…always drinking to cover some pain or disappointment.

And when Dad went missing and Jess died, it evolved again. At first Dean only thought it was for the better. Beau and Luke Duke never rode solo and they always won, so Dean and Sam Winchester would ride together from now on and never lose. But minutes ticked by turning into hours that morphed into days that collided to make up weeks and months, months that blew into years. And it was not for the better it seemed. Things got hard and mistakes were made. But like all metamorphoses, even though it changed it was still the same animal, just a different skin.

Unlike before the boys didn't find the baddies, they seemed to find the boys now. Looking for Dad they would stumble across a spirit or something corporeal that needed to be dealt with. Dean would try a fictional identity on the 'client' and Sam would smooth over his brothers harsh words and rash actions with puppy dog eyes and a soothing voice. Dean would come out guns blazing _'get it before it gets them'_ before really thinking things out…eager to be the tough big brother for his Sammy. Sam would research for hours on end and always uncover something that would save their asses. The whole thing would come crashing down in the end, all smoke and flying bullets, before the boys would save the day. Dean would ride out the adrenaline rush while Sam took it all in and let it eat at his insides.

With Sam tossed back in the mix, edges become softer. 'After Care' instructions were given slowly, feelings were discussed, apologies and thank you's were thrown around, tearful goodbyes were exchanged and there was always a hug. But never between brothers.

Leaving a gig changed, too. Sam would want to find a cheap motel and Dean would rather seek out a dark bar. So two grown men would climb into a classic car and drive till the road got too dark. Sam would make Dean stop for food and pull off for the night when he could see the wear on his brother's face.

Down this road the brothers traveled, tolls had to be paid. The price came in the form of broken bones, tears, cuts and scrapes, loss of material possessions, and always heartaches.

Dean paid his toll and Sam's too when he could. And when he made payment he would take the feelings that would rise to the surface and shove them back down to a place deep inside that he wouldn't let them come up from. But like the design of the hunt had been altered, Dean's ability to keep his personal demons at bay had changed as well.

And so, somewhere between the Mason Dixon and Lake Michigan, those things found him tonight. Not the nightmares or voices mumbling about coming terror, visions and cold sweats, or thrashing bodies against worn motel sheets. But the things that the older hunters mind had hidden from him and his soul. Because you see, like the vigilance Dean wore like armor, it was something he did without thinking or even trying. His mind was on autopilot and it buried the late night race to the emergency room, the crash, the medi-vac ride through the air, the days spent out of his body, the distracted father, and the distraught brother. But now it had crept out in the cold February air and found him.

After eating greasy pizza and emptying two cold beers, Dean laid down to sleep. He waited for Sam to doze off first, something he had done since November 2, 1983. Something he felt sure Sam didn't know he did. _Truth be told – Sammy knew_. So after Dean counted the obligatory seven minutes for Sam to relax he waited for the roll and curl. Sam would start out on his back, long legs reaching for the open air at the end of the bed. But give him about four minutes and he would roll onto his side and curl an arm around his chest. It was the same every night, only to be changed when he was sick or injured, then Sam would sleep on his stomach. After the roll and curl Sam would adjust his breathing slowly, one deep breath in and a long exhale to slow things down. The next breaths would vary between long and slow and quick and sharp. But like clockwork, three minutes into the exercise, Sam's breathing would even out, measured and deep, till it matched the rise and fall of his chest and sleep found Sam. Then, and only then, would Dean give in to sleep.

* * *

When the sun pushed through fine crack between the heavy maroon curtains that covered the dirty windows of the no-tell motel, the light fell on Sam's bed and across the soft features of his face. Paw like hands made their way to Sam's eyes as he rubbed away the previous nights haze. He threw his glance to the opposing bed and saw Dean still wrapped in green sheets and slumber and checked the cat clock on the wall. 9:24 a.m.

Sam drug himself from the confines of the double bed and ambled for the bathroom. Locking himself inside, Sam stripped down and turned on the shower. After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower and began diligently scrubbing off the last four days. And as the citrus scented shampoo ran out of his hair and down his back, Sam remembered too.

The bathrooms at Shiloh County Hospital had this weird orange hand soap in all of the dispensers. It was a faint orange color with deep orange and red beads embedded in it. He had used it in the hall bathroom outside of Dean's room to try and wash some of the hell he'd been through off of his body. He'd lathered his hands and arms and his face and neck, trying to get the stench of motor oil and demon musk and blood and disinfectant off of him. It had almost worked. He couldn't smell the oil or the musk or the blood anymore. But his finger tips carried the distinct smell of spent gun powder and the disinfectant smell was so entrenched in the hospital walls and floors, that washing it off of his skin was only giving it a new place to settle in.

Standing in the safe, warm confines of the shower, Sam's heart ached a little and lump rose in his throat. _Dean was okay, so why was he letting all of this get to him now?_ He threw his shoulders back and turned to face the cascading water head on. He just needed to get the thought and the memory out of his head so he could resume his roll as brother/friend/defender and be there for Dean, because he knew that what happened on the highway the night before was far from over.

"I was beginning to worry you were drowning in there". Dean looked up from his new spot on the squishy green couch in front of the TV. He hair was a mess and he was still clad in the t-shirt and sweat pants he had slept in.

"Yeah", Sam studied Dean for a quick second. "You gonna lay around like a lazy housewife all day, or what?" he pressed.

"Ehh…" Dean cocked an eyebrow, "I thought I'd let you run out and get us some coffee when you came out of the shower then we could start looking for a new gig when you get back".

Sam shot Dean a look. A Sam look. "Are your legs broken?" he asked the older hunter.

"No, but neither are yours and you just happen to be dressed and ready for such as excursion".

"Fine", Sam picked up his jacket and found the keys to the car resting on the nightstand. "You want anything else while I'm out? Peeled grapes, maybe?" The condescension in Sam's voice was palpable.

"No, I'm good", Dean waved him off and started to flip channels on the television then caught himself calling out to his brother again. "Wait, wait! Bring me some M&M's and maybe bagels and peanut butter if you can find it". And with that he turned his full attention back to the boob tube.

When Sam stepped out of the room he felt a twist in his gut. Dean was hurting. He didn't know it because Dean had told him or because his eyes had betrayed him. He knew by his brother's not so cryptic instructions. Coffee, M&M's, and bagels with peanut butter…all of these were Dean's comfort foods.

At 'Maxwell's Market' down the street Sam found all of the things Dean had requested. A bag of bagels, a small jar of JIF peanut butter, a two pound bag of peanut M&M's, and near the well equipped deli, two large coffees to go. If Dean chose to sulk and eat crap and watch bad TV to get through this, then Sammy would buy the crap, pour the coffee, and pay the extra rate for HBO.

* * *

When the youngest Winchester got back to the motel he found his brother exactly where he had left him on the couch.

"Coffee's hot", Sam warned as Dean rushed to evacuate the steaming cylinders from his brother's hands.

Dean took the top off of his cup and lifted it to his lips, sipping slowly at first, testing the heat of the brew. Then, as the liquid passed his lips and filled his mouth and ran down his throat, he smiled.

"Ahh…thick like sludge and black as the night. Just the way I like it".

Sam dropped the bags on the table near the small kitchenette, and started to empty them of the provisions inside: candy, bagels, peanut butter, beer, microwave popcorn, soda, deli meat, poboy buns, granola bars, chips, and bagged salad. He lined up the boxes and bags on the counter top and crammed the rest of the junk in the mini fridge before he grabbed his coffee and joined Dean on the opposite side of the couch.

Dean was seemingly wrapped up in a comical rerun of M.A.S.H. and talking back to the television. He scoffed at the balding doctor on the screen, "Charles Emerson…huh. Dude's not a real Winchester".

Sam stared at Dean, who was either completely oblivious to his presence or really good at ignoring his little brother. He had thought about what he would say to Dean when he got back, but being there now, none of the anecdotes or prying questions he had come up with seemed to fit the situation. So he stuck to the script he had been running with since they had left the hospital, altering it according to the current circumstance.

"So do you want to talk about it Dean?"

Dean looked up from his program and laid a questioning eye on the younger hunter. "Talk about what?"

Sam huffed. He should have known Dean would drag this out and make it more difficult than it had to be.

"Talk about what?" he demanded. "Talk about what happened to you. Talk about last night".

Dean's eyes had been drawn back to the TV and he didn't even bother looking at Sam when he responded.

"What happened last night?"

**A/N: So I thought I'd give the story a little twist there…ya' know…leave you waiting and wanting to hear more. Now far be it from me to demand, but I need REVIEWS!! I'm not entirely sure where this thing is going, but getting the reviews I did get sent my brain into over drive and I couldn't tear myself away from this computer till I got another chapter out!! The reviews drive me to continue, so if you want more, let me hear it!!**

**Thank you to those who did review. My next chapter (If you guys want it) should be up by Thursday night. Happy Hunting!!**


	3. Just A Game

**Sorry this took so long to get up! I had an unforeseen run in with some anastesia and a doctor. But all is good now and chapters 4 & 5 are almost done! Keep reviewing!**

Sam looked at his brother. "Are you shitting me?"

Dean just looked right back.

The possibilities ran through Sam's head. All of the reasons for Dean not to remember the events of the previous night. It could have been something paranormal or demonic, his psyche could be burying it to protect him from himself, he could be sick. The last option struck a cord with Sam. _He could be sick…or hurt_. Sam lunged forward and started frantically running a hand over Dean's head, looking for a bump.

"Did you hit your head when that spirit shoved you into the wall?"

"Dude, get off of me, I'm fine", Dean forced Sam out of his personal space and across the couch.

"Dean", Sam was staring so hard he was sure he could see a hole forming on his brother's face. "You had a panic attack and couldn't drive. You pulled over and relinquished the wheel. Are you telling me you don't remember all of that?"

If only for a second, Dean let his head replay the roadside drama in fast-forward.

"Number one, I didn't have a panic attack. I don't panic cause panic can get you killed. And B, I remember all of last night, I just didn't think me getting too tired to drive was something you would want to have some heart to heart over".

"You weren't just tired Dean".

Ignoring the scene unfolding before him, Dean got up and walked to the kitchenette in search of food. He found his way to the counter top covered in food and rummaged for his bagels and peanut butter. He was stunned by the amount of food Sam had bought.

"What's with all the food?" he called toward the other room.

"What?" Sam asked when he came around the corner.

"Why'd you buy all this food, man?"

"Why are you avoiding the subject?"

Dean looked up from the bagel he was slathering with peanut butter. "I'm not avoiding anything, Sammy. I heard a song and I remembered something I didn't know I knew. End of story". Dean pressed a bag of bagels into Sam's hands and looked him in the eye, "no reason to ruffle your feathers".

In twenty-two years Sam had asked nothing of his older brother, Dean had _chosen_ to stand as a sentry and guard Sam's life like it was a fort holding some precious cache.

But in this twenty-third year Sam needed to ask. He needed to ask Dean to be there for him in a way he didn't know how to be.

In the months following John's passing Sam had needed reassurances. He needed to hear that everything would be okay, he needed his brother to stand up and tell him that he would take care of him. He needed his brother to fix the car, to remind him to put on his jacket, to stake out the next hunt, to force him to eat, to pick a motel, and to tell him to wear an extra pair of socks. He needed to lean on someone and grieve. He needed to be weak for just a minute so he could catch the breath he lost in that ally in Jefferson City. But everyday, things got harder and came within inches of coming to blows. And this was one of those times. Another one of those moments Sam would hide his fears and anger and hold his tongue for his brother's sake.

Dean took a bite off of his bagel and announced that he would shower while Sam did a little digging on the net. "Just something local. I'm really not in the mood for a cross country haul".

Sam stood in the olive green kitchenette, bathed in the florescent light, watching his sibling walk away from him, trying to process what had just transpired. Dean had turned this on Sam. He had turned it into one of Sam's emotional moments that he would joke away or brush off. But the reality of the situation was that Dean's floodgates were starting to give and before long they would break and that river would come rushing in and destroy everything.

Dean stepped into the private space of the bathroom and closed the door, leaning on it for support. He took in a deep breath; one that held his love for his father and his brother, his faith in the supernatural, his lack of faith in the goodness of others, his fear of the future, and his pain born of his tragic past, and blew it out in an even slow breath. He turned the left knob and cranked up the hot water. He let it run until steam consumed the bathroom. When the hand that tested the water jerked back involuntarily, Dean stripped off the previous nights garb and stepped in. The water was hot. Hotter than Dean could really stand and it hurt as it burned down his flesh. But it was a welcome hurt, a different kind of pain. A physical pain. Since the roadside production the night before, Dean was remembering the attack, and the race, and the blood, and the fear. And it hurt. _God, it hurt_.

When he stepped out of the world inside of the shower, his skin was pink and his flesh steamed. He toweled off and dressed in the classic hunters uniform: frayed jeans, soft gray t-shirt, button down flannel, and black biker boots. He wiped the opaque mirror with his bare hand and revealed his reflection. He surveyed the man looking back at him. A little worse for the wear these days; pale scars, tired eyes, and shallow cheeks. But for all the physical changes that appeared in the glass he was pleased that the wounds of battle he wore on his heart and soul could not be seen._ But then, had Sammy seen them last night?_

Sam had paced like a caged animal after Dean locked himself in the bathroom. For all the time they spent locked together in confined spaces; the car, motels, sheds, abandoned houses, back alleys; Dean knew everything about Sam. But a lot of Dean was still a mystery to Sam. Dean knew what each hitched breath and eye flutter that came from his brother meant. He knew how to clean the wounds and change the air of a situation so it was easier for Sam to handle. But Sam had no idea how to clean these wounds Dean was suffering with. _Hell, he didn't think Dean knew how to take care of them._

But hunting was always a good fall back. Find a spook and waste it and Dean would be relieved of some of the weight on his shoulders. He would stand a little taller, the fire would return to his eyes, and he would move on. So Sam was digging, looking for Dean's next fix. He was combing through the archives of every publication within a hundred miles, but it was fruitless.

The lock on the bathroom door clicked and heavy footsteps found their way into the motel room. Sam turned to see a cleaner, still slightly disheveled Dean standing next to the bed cramming clothes into his duffle.

"You good?" Sam asked quietly, trying not to offend his elder with the innocent question.

"Fantastic". Dean flashed a weak grin and walked over to the table. "Find anything yet?"

"No, nothing. But I'm still looking", he tore his eyes away from Dean and started hammering the keys, desperate to find anything worth killing.

"Alright Nancy. Keep it up", Dean grabbed the knob on the front door, "I'm gonna go empty all the trash and crap out of the car", and with that he disappeared into the parking lot.

A dull smile crossed Dean's lips as he took in the beauty of deep black paint and shinning chrome. As he rounded the grill of his car he laid a gentle hand on the hood and spoke to the metallic beast, "Good morning Baby".

He immediately set to the task of removing two weeks worth of paper cups, greasy fast food wrappers, and empty soda bottles from the floorboards and back seat. He strolled slowly in the late morning sun to the dumpster and heaved the trash over the top and into the giant box.

Back at the trunk of the car he lifted the false bottom and started rearranging the contents and looking for any weapon that could be cleaned or sharpened. He lifted out a sawed off shotgun and separated the barrel from the butt of the arm, looked down the short drum, and quietly decided it could stand a good cleaning. He pulled an empty black bag from the bottom of the trunk, needing something to conceal his project in, and his eye caught an oblong tan box.

Dean reached in and pulled the box out, carefully reading the bold print on the top: 'Mystical Talking Board'

He held the box up in the light making sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. And when his eyes and his brain had met and conferred that it was actually a Quija Board, the words fell from his lips, "What the fuck?"

**That's it…what did you think?? I'm digging through my brain looking for things to trigger both of their memories and I think I have watched IMTOD a half dozen times now!! Please send me reviews…the good, the bad, and the ugly!! THANX FOR READING MY RAMBLINGS!**


	4. Take A Pill, I'll Figure This Out

**Woo hoo! Another chapter up! Granted, this one doesn't establish much plot. It does however include a ton of Dean and Sam angst.  
And fear not my readers, the chick flick/mushy moments are coming in the next chapter!!**

Dean dropped the shotgun and the black bag. He stood back and stared at the box trying to decide why a slumber party board game would be in his trunk amongst guns and blades and ancient texts.

His mind raced and wondered through his memories, looking for the answer to his confusion. And then, just as the night before, his chest tightened and his breath was short. He grabbed onto the car and tried to brace himself and correct his breathing. His back ached as he slowly slid down the smooth metal and found a cold seat on the pavement.

His head swam and when he closed his eyes he saw the dimly lit room at the county hospital. He watched his past play out in front of his mind's eye.

Sam was there, battered and broken, standing over his near lifeless body, brown bag in hand. Monitors and a respirator played a grim song. Two brothers sat on the same floor in different worlds and pushed a wooden triangle back and forth across the game board. Sam spoke and Dean finished his siblings thought. He was screwed. Death was here, looking for him, eager to take him away. Sam was distraught and searching for words and answers. He stood and left Dean alone with himself. Alone with his fears and pain and regrets and desperation.

Dean just couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes to stop the memories from coming, only to be assaulted by the blinding sun. He raised an arm over his head and blocked the beams. His chest rose and fell quickly. His heart thumped against his breast trying to keep up with the demand his lungs were creating, but it was too much, too fast. The long forgotten wounds from that fateful evening burned and ached as though they were fresh. He felt lightheaded and put his head between his knees. _This isn't a panic attack. This is death. I'm going to die_

* * *

It had been forty minutes since Dean had walked out of the room and Sam had failed to find anything on the Internet. He glanced at his watch and made note of his brothers prolonged absence. Another five minutes passed and Sam walked to the window to check things out. His gut twisted when he saw the open trunk of the car and no Dean. He ran to the duffle on the floor between the beds and pulled out his piece, tucking it into his waistband before he bolted out of the door.

Sam stood a good thirty yards from the car and swept the parking lot for any movement. Nothing. He crept forward and called his brother's name once, "Dean?" Nothing. He moved quickly toward the impala and heard a faint sound from the rear. He pulled his gun and stepped quickly around the back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted when he saw his brothers crumpled form on the ground. His breathing was labored and erratic. Sam dropped his gun in the open drunk and plunged to the ground. He lifted Dean's head with two open palms and sucked in a deep breath when he got a good look at his sibling. His face was pale and covered with sweat. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, and pain was etched deep into his features.

"Come on, Dean, get up", he heaved and pulled his obstinate brother off of the pavement. "Come on. Let's go back inside". One arm around Dean, Sam slammed the trunk closed and slowly walked his brother back into the poorly decorated motel.

Dean dropped onto the bed and Sam hovered, looking for the cause of his distress.

"Sammy?" Dean was fighting.

"What happened Dean?" He pushed.

"It was…I…in the trunk…Quija Board" Dean forced the words out as he tried to regain some composure.

"What?" Sam was lost. "Give yourself a minute, okay Dean? Deep breaths in and out. Good, just like that. Now are you hurt?"

Dean didn't speak, just shook his head and blew out a long breath.

Sam stood in vigilance over the bed and tried to piece things together. _He went to clean out the car. He went through the trunk. He found a Quija Board_. And it hit Sam. His brother wasn't hurt he was having another panic attack. This one obviously worse than the one that had taken Dean the night before. Sam had kept the board for a few reasons. When he realized that the children's toy had crossed some realm to find his brother, the hunter in him kept it because it may have proven useful in the future. But the broken boy in him had kept it to remind him of how close he had come, a second time, to losing his brother. And now it was bringing back repressed memories and causing Dean pain. Guilt twisted in Sam's gut.

His mind went into _Dean mode_. He started formulating a plan of action, a way to help his brother.

"Dean I want you to lay there and don't move".

"Where…where are you going?" The words were forced and awkward coming from trembling lips.

"I'm going find some help. Promise me you won't move". Sam knew Dean couldn't go anywhere, but that wouldn't stop the stubborn jerk from trying to follow him.

Dean closed his eyes and drew in a breath. As he blew it out he nodded his head and whispered, "yup".

"Promise", Sam demanded.

"Promise", Dean conceded.

Sam's long arms reached across Dean's body and patted him down, searching. Finally his fingers fell on the small metal keys and he pulled them from Dean's pocket and left his brother on the bed to rest.

* * *

In the office of the motel Sam asked the innkeeper if there was a university in town or nearby. With a silent nod the man confirmed. "It's about thirty miles from here in Toro Hills. Just take the highway west and follow the signs".

Sam thanked the man and raced to the impala. He got in, slammed the door, cranked the engine and checked the gas gauge. He had a little less than half of a tank, more than enough to make the sixty-mile round trip, so he pulled out of the lot and headed west, toward his solution.

* * *

Two hours later Sam was traipsing back into the motel room. It was like a tomb, dark and cool and quiet. Dean was lying on the bed in the exact position he had been left in. His arms were clutched at his chest and his eyes were closed. Sam walked over and laid a hand just above Dean's and felt the measured rise and fall of his chest. Nice and even.

He went to the bathroom and filled a plastic cup with tap water. It smelled awful and he knew it probably wasn't fit for drinking, but it was the only water they had right now so it would have to do.

Sam carefully walked back to his brother's bedside and tried to rouse him form sleep.

"Dean? Hey", he leaned in and tapped one of the hands on Dean's chest, "Dean, get up man".

Dean heard his brother calling him and fought with the slumber that had consumed him. He slowly opened one eye and looked at Sam's massive form towering over him.

"What?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle a little, "Open both of them".

Dean complied and pried the other eye open and gave Sam a questioning glare. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here?"

Sam told him to sit up…just for a second. Dean did as he was told and Sam handed him the small cup. When Dean's hand accepted it and had a good grip, Sam reached into his pocket and produced a small orange bottle. It had no label on it, but its contents could be seen: a few dozen white pills. He popped open the top and spilled two tablets into his hand then held them out to Dean. "Take them".

Dean made a face, "what are they?"

"Xanax. Now take them".

"First of all, where did you get them?" Dean questioned.

"College Boy has his own secrets and skills", Sam said with a smile, happy to know he still had part of the old him left.

"Where?" Dean demanded.

"Went to the university a few towns over. Bought them off of some kid".

Dean raised an eyebrow, "And why do I need to take Xanax?"

Sam was getting tired of this fast. In the last twenty-four hours he had watched his brother suffer two panic attacks and the guy was denying anything was happening to him. _Why did he have to be such a hard ass? Why couldn't he just let someone help him?_ Sam's mind answered the question as quickly as it had asked it. Dean thought that asking for help or showing need was being weak and Dean's entire existence depended on him being strong. Anger coursed through Sam when he reflected on the training and conditioning Dean had received as a child. John had beaten it into his son to _never let them see you sweat_ and now Dean was grown and suffering and knew no other way than to deny assistance and suffer in silence. Like Sanskrit carved into stone, it was there and you couldn't change it. Sam added that little gem to the list of things he would hold against John.

"I'm not arguing with you, Dean. You had two panic attacks, I found you in a heap on the ground next to the car, you couldn't stand or breathe for that matter, and I practically had to carry you back into the motel. So you're going to quit your bitching and take the damn pills".

Dean looked up at Sam and tried to stare him down. The puppy dog eyes were gone and replaced with determined, angry ones. Dean searched, looking for some hole, some loop he could worm through and get out of this, but there was nothing. Sam won.

He took the pills and swallowed them. He chased them with the funky water and handed the cup back to the kid.

"Happy?" He asked.

"No", Sam started as he sat on the opposing mattress, "Give those sometime to work and rest a little more, but then you and I are going to talk Dean". He was forceful and yet wary. Trepidation soaked his words as he tried to take the upper hand. "But…just try to rest right now".

Dean took the orders as they were dolled out. He had heard that tone so many times in his life, full of authority and concern. But now instead of coming from his father they came from Sam and when he looked at his brother he saw a little bit of his father in the boy. So he slid back down the mattress and closed his eyes, content in knowing that if he slept Sam couldn't question and yell and make him talk.

When Dean was asleep again Sam stood and paced the floor, wearing holes in the cheap carpet. Constant movement was a comfort for Sam. He did it subconsciously and usually didn't notice it. He let his mind trail to all the times he had caught himself doing it. Like the first time he had sat in the union waiting on Jess so they could have lunch together, he almost rubbed a hole through the table he rubbed it so hard. Or the time he had nervously bounced his knee as they lingered in Missouri's living room and waited for her to emerge. And he had nearly chewed his thumbnail off waiting to be released at the county hospital so he could check on Dean and Dad.

So when Sam caught himself pacing like a caged animal, he stopped and took a seat on the couch. He thought about all of the things that had happened around the time of the accident. Sam found Elkins' obit, Dad found them, they found the colt, Dad was taken, Dean saved Sam from a suicidal run into a burning house, they went to Bobby, they exercised the demon from Meg, found Dad, the Demon tried to kill Dean, Sam drove them into a semi, Dean almost died, Dad sold his soul, and Dean moved on without a word.

Taking survey of all he knew, he recognized the fact that Dean had walked this earth outside of his body and that had to have had some affect on him. Sam would have to force him to talk it out and get it out of him, or it would kill Dean. But how do you help some one who doesn't want to be helped. Sam chuckled at the thought of tying Dean to a chair and forcing him to talk. But no, he would rely on the old standards…puppy dog eyes and soft pleadings.

**So…how'd you like them apples? Reviews are appreciated. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Thanx for reading and chapter 5 will be up very soon!!**


	5. Just Two Guys Talking

**Ah, the saga continues. And people…today is the day for humor/emo mush/chick flick moments. I tapped this out today while avoiding real work…and it's good (well I think so, but I'm pretty biased). So enjoy, my lovlies! And again, thank you for the reviews!!**

Not all sleep is the same. The sleep you get when you fall into a lumpy, slightly discolored mattress after a long hunt is satisfying and refreshing. The sleep you get when the butt of a rifle strikes your skull is sudden and necessary. The sleep you get when you have fallen into a coma is empty and haunting. And the sleep you get from medication is hard and reviving.

Dean woke from his medicated sleep with a clear mind. He surveyed the room and searched for Sam but frowned when he didn't see or hear his brother, only the rambling of a rerun of _Cheers_.

"Sam, you hiding from me or what?"

Sam's head immediately popped up over the back of the couch. He had been laid out watching mindless television to pass the time. And to take his mind off of Dean.

"Down here", he directed, "How you feeling 'Sleeping Beauty'?"

"'Sleeping Beauty'?" Dean asked in a mocking tone.

Sam got up and walked over to the bed facing Dean's and sat down. "Well yeah. See I figure you must be 'Sleeping Beauty' and I'm 'Snow White'", he established.

"Okay, I'll bite. What is your reasoning there?"

"Well, Sleeping Beauty is woken up by a handsome prince", Sam smiled and pointed a finger at himself, "that would be me. And poor Snow White is awoken by an ugly dwarf", he fought to keep down a laugh, "and that would be you".

"Ha, ha", Dean scoffed as he hoisted himself off the bed and walked to the couch, "everybody's a comedian".

Sam followed his brother in a pavlovian fashion. "So how are you feeling?"

Dean dropped onto the squishy excuse for a couch and looked up at the kid who had followed him, "Like someone drugged me".

Cocking his head to one side and quirking an eyebrow Sam conceded to the fact that it was basically what he had done, "Yeah okay, I can see where you might feel that way". Sam headed into the kitchenette and came back with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Dean and sat down on the coffee table in front of his brother, blocking the television.

A storm was raging outside of the motel. The gray sky and cascading rain worked together to create a somber world. All was still and the small drops of water hitting the pavement and rooftops and cars created a soothing hum. Almost a song. No one was out in the slick weather at this hour. It all seemed to fit. The inside of the motel was much the same, quiet and somber, no one moving about if they didn't have to. The world around Dean matched what he felt inside.

"You ready to talk to me?" Sam broke the silence and carefully broached the subject.

"Not talking about it Sammy"

"Yes, we are. I'm asking and you're going to answer me", Sam tried to be forceful and gentle at the same time, mindful of Dean's current state.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

Sam took a deep breath and realized that he wasn't entirely ready for this conversation. But Dean needed to talk about the things he was remembering or this would be the 'thing' that finally got him.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember a lot of things Sam".

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes, "What do you remember now that you didn't remember before? From the beginning".

"Okay", Dean took a deep breath, "I remember the seeing the semi coming out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't have a chance to say anything before it hit us. I remember feeling a blow and sliding across the seat and slamming my head on the door. Then everything just went white".

"Do you remember the truck driver, or the medics? The chopper?"

"No. I don't remember the people or the chopper ride, but if I close my eyes I can hear the whipping of the air in the chopper blades". Dean closed his eyes and Sam watched his brother as his body shuddered at the sound only Dean could hear.

"And after that?" Sam pressed.

"I remember waking up and not feeling any pain. And I needed to ask, but there was no one around".

"Ask what?"

"Same question I've asked everyday for twenty-odd years. 'Where's Sam'?"

_Always worried about everyone but himself. That's how we got into this fucking situation_. "Then what?"

"Uh", Dean palmed his chin, rubbing the stubble with comparably soft fingers. "I got out of bed and I started looking for you and Dad. I found this nurse but she wouldn't look at me or answer me when I talked to her and that's when I knew".

"That you were out of your body" Sam finished his brother's thought.

"Yeah", Dean took another deep breath in and it hitched as he blew it out of trembling lips. "So I went back and found myself. And that's when you showed up". Dean smiled. Something Sam hadn't seen in two days and the sudden appearance of his brothers shinning eyes threw him.

"What?" Sam pleaded.

"Walking through that hospital with no one…those were the longest and loneliest moments of my life. Or after life", Dean gave a puzzled look. "But when you walked through that door I had never been so happy to see your oversized ass…to see that you were okay".

Sam twined his long fingers together and focused on the floor beneath him as he pushed the words out of his throat and past his lips. "But I wasn't".

"What are you talking about", Dean leaned forward, "I thought the hospital released you?"

"Relax, they did. It's just…your doctor was telling me not to get my hopes up and Dad was worried about getting his hands on the colt. Then Bobby wanted me to scrap the impala and it was all too much. I just didn't know what to do".

Dean gave Sam the assurance he needed and looked him in the eye, "I know. But you held on. You didn't give up, and I appreciate that".

"Yeah, well. It's what brothers do. So what else do you remember?"

"You. Fighting with Dad", Dean's breathing got quicker and he rubbed his open palms down his jeans. "For twenty-two years I could step in and stop you two. But all of the sudden I was there, but I wasn't and I couldn't do a damn thing".

"But you did", Sam injected.

"What do you mean?"

"The glass on the table next to Dad's bed. It flew off while we were fighting and I knew it was you. I knew I could believe in someone who wasn't there".

"Yeah", Dean's eyes widened a little as the memory came to him, "Yeah, I remember that".

"What else?"

"I flat lined when the reaper came after me. I could feel it pulling on my soul. But I got rid of it and I found you in the hall". Dean took a moment to slow his breaths. "And I promised you I was coming back".

"I heard you. I mean, I didn't hear you, but I knew you were there talking to me", Sam tapped his forehead, "psychic wonder".

Dean quirked his eyebrows the same way he always did when he had to accept one of Sam's reasons that could only be explained to be a psychic whim. "Then you came in with that damn quija board".

Sam chuckled a little. The conversation wasn't that bad. It was a give and take. Each brother took a turn offering up a part of that time in his life, and then taking the support of the other.

"I didn't think it was going to work", Dean confided, "But when it did and I talked you…it helped man. It made it a little easier".

Sam just nodded, "I know the feeling. So, the reaper. Did you see it again?"

"Yeah, I found her down the hall".

"So it was a chick?" Sam asked hoping Dean would take his comment as an attempt to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have no effect.

"Yeah. She told me that it was my time to go, that I was living on borrowed time. I told her that I had to stay because you needed me. I told her that you could die without me. But she wouldn't give. She just told me that what ever was going to happen to you was going to happen to you and that there was nothing I could do about it", Dean started to gasp each breath and to Sam's surprise the _Great Dean Winchester_ started to cry, "Sammy…"

The word hung in the air. It's amazing how much power one word had over two men. Five letters strung together to form a name, and yet it encompassed so much more. It meant I'm scared, and I love you, and oh thank God, and please no. Used at the right time or in the right place it could be an entire conversation, a comfort, or a plea.

So Sam let it hang as he slid onto the couch next to Dean. "Hey, calm down Dean. Just take deep breaths, alright?"

Dean leaned against the back of the couch and tried to breathe and stop crying. But that damn heart of his was thumping so hard. He raised his hand to his chest and tried to convince it to stop its protestations. Relief came when he looked at Sam next to him talking and telling him to breathe, even though he could hear nothing but the beat of his heart and blood rushing in his ears. He concentrated and slowed his breaths. And he heard Sam.

"It's okay Dean. We're both here. I'm alright. You're alright. Everything's okay. It's all over. Just breathe man. Come on, we'll stop and eat something, huh?"

Dean just nodded his head and let his baby brother take the wheel.

**Satisfying like a home cooked meal, right? (unless you're like me and you live on coffee and cigarettes…I know bad habits). If you didn't feel this was so good, fear not, more is coming in the next chapter. I'm talking total Dean breakdown…tears, yelling, the works! I may even have Sammy cry! So keep reviewing!! And if I didn't respond to your kind words, sorry. I am trying to respond to all of the reviews…just give me time!! Thanks for reading and reviewing!!**

**Dean may need another dose of xanax, but don't worry, he will NOT become addicted!! I wouldn't hurt our Deanie like that. It was a medical necessity (in my mind). **

**Chapter 6 coming soon!!**


	6. Don't Listen To Me

**Hello Everyone!! Another chapter is up! It took a while to get it out of me and into the computer. It's kind of awkward…but bear with me, I'm trying. Some things are just harder to write than others. Sam has some anger issues and I'm trying to figure out how he deals. So please read and review…I'd love to know how much you all love or hate this thing!! **

Sam held his breath while he made sandwiches. He was sure that Dean would make his way to the kitchen at any moment and end this whole thing. _I'm fine, just let it go_ and _don't want to talk about it anymore_ then of course _no chick flick moments_. But Dean stayed where he was on the couch and didn't move. So Sam continued the mindless task of _meat between bread - meat between bread_. Like the pacing, it was comfort born of moving and being busy.

* * *

Dean wanted to kick his brain back into its regular operations. He wanted to sort all the new things he didn't know he knew. He wanted to label them and file them away some where in the back of his brain where he'd lose them and not bother to try and find them. But that wasn't what was in the cards. He would have to face his fears and regrets, to brand them the way they had branded him and finally be done with them. The first step was to get a hold of himself.

Sam put two plates and two cans of off brand soda on the table. "You need any help", he gestured to his brother.

"No, I'm coming". Dean got up and walked slowly to the table, as though he were broken. His nose and cheeks were stained red and his eyes were blown open. He sat in the chair opposite Sammy and just looked at the food in front of him. Sam opened both cans and pushed a soda to his brother. Dean just stared for a moment before reaching forward and accepting the offering. His limbs seemed heavy, his chest was sore, and his tongue felt thick.

Pulling the can to his lips he drank down the sugary liquid before moving to the sandwich. He chewed deliberately and tried to concentrate on the taste of the food and the way it made his stomach feel full. But the memories and the pain and fear they created were swimming in his head and he found himself crying silently as he stared down at his plate and ate his food. The tears and saliva mixed in his mouth and he couldn't remember why he was trying to eat. _Because Sammy needs me to_. The thought of his brother and what Sam needed from him made his breath catch in his chest and he swallowed hard. He took another long pull on his drink and tried to stop what was coming.

But it was out of his control. He wasn't driving and he couldn't control where this thing was going. All he could see now was Sam and the reaper and being told he could do anything to save his brother. The car smashed beyond repair. His father and the colt and the yellow eyed demon. Not finishing the fight. No one to take care of Sammy. His heart was thumping, chest heaving, eyes blinking wildly as tears fought for release.

Sam saw his brother's distress and dropped his sandwich. "Dean, you gotta calm down, okay? Let whatever it is go for now and just try to breathe". But it wasn't working. Dean's hands had found their way back up to his chest and he was going into overload.

To Sam, Dean seemed to be bordering on hysteria. Still, what Sam saw wasn't as bad as what Dean felt. He was gasping for air but he just couldn't get enough. "I gotta get some air" he spoke as he stood on shaky legs and headed toward the door.

"No Dean! You need to sit down. You're hyperventilating and you're going to pass out". Sam was out of his chair and following Dean toward the exit.

"No, I've got to _getoutside needair_", his words ran together and his knees knocked.

Then, just as Sam had prophesized moments earlier, Dean passed out. But true to his larger than life persona, he did it with style. Sam couldn't come around the couch fast enough to catch his brother and break his fall, so the coffee table did it for him. Dean's knees buckled and his eyes rolled back. He plunged toward the ground and smacked his head on the table on his way down.

"Christ", Sam said as he walked around the table. He was annoyed at this point instead of concerned. He kept telling Dean to calm down and breathe. He told him to sit down or he'd be sorry. _Why the hell can't he listen?_

He rolled his brother over and hooked his hands underneath Dean's arms, pulling him onto the couch. He crouched down and examined the point of impact on Dean's forehead. It was just above his right eye and a lump had already started to form…it was going to be pretty.

"Dean", Sam yelled. "Come on Dean. Come back". Sam slapped his brother's face a few times in an attempt to rouse him. And maybe because Dean was making this harder than it had to be.

Dean's neck rolled and his head bobbed forward. "Ahh", he put a hand to his head and felt the bump. "What the hell happened?"

Sam stood up and walked out of the room. When he came back with a cold can of soda he handed it to Dean and gestured for him to rest it on his head. Dean followed the instructions.

"You were eating and you got all worked up. I told you to calm down and you didn't. I told you to breathe and you didn't. You got up to go out for air and I told you to sit down you were gonna pass out, and you ignored me. Then you lost it and took a header into the coffee table".

Sam just stared at Dean. Not concerned, he knew the bump would go away and that Dean was fine. No, Sam was angry about Dean's actions.

"Heh, heh", Dean forced a weak a chuckle past his lips, "Go big or go home, right?" His eyes pled with Sam for a little consideration, but he didn't get it.

"Sit up Dean. You can't lie down or take a nap now. You gotta stay up", Sam directed coldly.

Dean sat up and focused on the anger and annoyance that he saw painted across Sam's features. One more chick flick moment. "I'm sorry Sam. I know I've got you at your wits end with all this crap. I just don't' know what to do". Dean's eyes were pleading again.

Sam stood up and started to pace from the couch to the far wall and back again. He ran his fingers through his hair and then across his chin before he tried to speak. _Breathe Sam, stay calm and try not to yell_ he told himself. But it was too late. As soon as his lips parted Sam went agro on Dean.

"You don't know what to do? How about listening to me, huh? Just because you're older doesn't mean you have all the answers. And another thing", a finger pointed accusingly at Dean, "This crap with you playing all tough and never letting anyone help you…It. Has. Got. To. Stop. Every time something happens to you, you hide it till it's almost too late. I lose sleep over weather you are okay or not. I find gashes on your arms and bumps on your head and you never say a damn thing about them till the cuts are infected and a concussion has you slurring your words together". Sam was yelling and pacing and pointing and he could feel the rage building inside, looking for an outlet. So without warning he walked to the far wall and with a grunt, put his fist through the drywall.

"Jesus, Sam", Dean tried to sound like he was the man in charge when clearly he wasn't. "Your going to get us thrown out and I'm going to have to pay for that now".

Sam blew sharps breaths. "Fuck you, Dean", he barked as he walked into the kitchen and pulled a beer from the mini fridge. He popped the top off on the edge of the counter and sauntered back towards the tv.

"Hey, grab me one of those", Dean ignored Sam's rebuff.

"No. No alcohol of any kind until those drugs are out of your system" Sam ordered.

Dean just huffed and crossed his arms against his chest. Sam started flipping through TV channels and taking long chugs of beer. Twenty minutes later when the bottle was empty and he was certain Dean was fine, he got up and tossed the bottle in the trashcan. "I'm going to bed".

"What?" Dean demanded. "It's only nine o'clock".

"Yeah, and I'm tired. Just watch your tv and don't nod off. I'll get up in a few hours and check on you, jerk".

Dean would have fired back a 'bitch' but he knew that when Sammy had said jerk he meant it. So he let it go. And he let Sammy go for the night.

* * *

Sam didn't wake up and Dean didn't sleep. He wasn't sure what sleep would bring but he feared it would be more flashbacks. So, game plan: coffee, soda, computer, television, hell jerk off if that kept him from falling asleep.

Four episodes of 'Barney Miller', two cans of soda, forty-five minutes of surfing the net, one pot of awful coffee, and another two hours of 'The Rockford Files', and Dean couldn't take it anymore. He was exhausted. The bump on his head wasn't a concussion, but he refused to sleep all the same. So at five a.m. he strapped his boots back on, grabbed his jacket and keys and hit the door.

It was mid February and the sun was just starting to come over the horizon. It had to be thirty degrees outside and the small town was covered in frost. He started moving, walking toward the hum of the town in front of him. He thought about useless things as he walked. _I need to get new laces for my shoes…about 64 inches I bet. I wonder if Ash is short for Ashton or Asher. How old was Sammy when he had his appendix removed? We need real shampoo…that fruity crap at the motel is doing nothing for my mojo_. Anything to keep his mind from going back to where it had been for the last couple of days.

He stepped into the mini mart on the corner and looked at the man behind the register. He offered a good morning and received a grunt in return. The man was clearly not a morning person. Dean followed his nose to the coffee pot and poured to large cup, securing the contents with plastic tops. He grabbed some pre-packaged pastries with pretty french names, "Glorified Little Debbie cakes", he scoffed.

At the counter the old man punched keys on an ancient register then looked up at Dean. "That it boy?"

"Box of Marlboro reds"

The antique cashier fumbled along a wall of boxes and returned with the requested product, then started to place the food and smokes in a brown paper bag. "Now you done?"

"Yeah, that'll do it", Dean smiled at the disgruntled man.

"It's $9.21", he barked and put a hand out.

Dean searched his wallet and produced two five dollar bills. He placed them on the counter top and told the man to keep the change. He stacked the cups one on top of the other and grabbed the brown bag.

* * *

Dean sat on the curb in front of the impala, just outside of his motel room. He pulled the box of cigarettes out of the bag and started to tap the box. Satisfied, he ripped off the plastic and opened the box. He drew one of the fags from the container and slipped it between his lips. The zippo came from his pocket, and with the flick of the stone, it came to life. Dean cupped the flame and pulled it toward him, lighting the cigarette. He closed to lighter and sat in the cold with the sun beating on his back, slowly sipping his coffee and enjoying a smoke.

Dean wasn't really a smoker. He did it every now and again when he needed an outlet of some kind. When things got rough and stress got high, he'd buy a pack, smoke them all, then not look at another cigarette for a year.

He didn't hear the door to the motel room open, but he saw the big bare feet appear in front of him. Dean looked up and squinted. Sam was standing in the parking lot in sweats, an under shirt, and no shoes. His hands were on his hips and he was scowling at Dean. Scowling, but not speaking.

"What?" Dean whined looking down from the blinding sun.

"What do you mean what, Dean? I woke up and you weren't here. The car was here, your stuff was here, but you weren't. No note, nothing". Sam berated his brother.

"Chill alright. I went out for coffee", Dean waged.

"Did you sleep last night?" Sam asked, noticing the haunch of Dean's spine and droop in his shoulders.

"No. Here, I got you a cup of coffee and some breakfast stuff", he handed Sam the cup and brown bag.

"Thanks", he pointed to the cigarette in Dean's hand, "Now put that out and come back inside. It's freezing out here".

"I'll be inside in a minute".

"Fine", Sam's tone spoke volumes to his demeanor. He was tired and cold and sick of all of this. So he took his gifts and went back into the warmth of their room.

Dean just sat on the pavement finishing his cigarette and looking out at the empty road. He knew things would be brought up again today and Sam was going to press and make him go through more of this crap. He took one long drag and stamped the cigarette out on the ground. He stood and went back to the room. When he opened the door he found Sam eating and sipping his coffee.

Sam heard the door close and looked up at Dean. He could see that the knot on his forehead was starting to dissipate, but it was leaving him with a nasty red and purple ring under both eyes as it drained.

"Come here, sit down. Let me take a look at that knot on your head". Sam stood up and wiped his hands on his pants before waving Dean over to the table. Dean sat down in the chair and stared at the table. Sam grabbed Dean's chin and angled his head up. He carefully pressed two fingers against the knot, making Dean flinch.

"Easy, Sam!" Dean yelped.

"Relax, I've seen worse. Just suck it up".

Dean turned his head, forcing Sam to lose his grip on his chin, then looked at Sam incredulously. "What crawled up your ass this morning?"

"You did. I am so sick of all your crap", Sam knew how it sounded, but he said it anyway and once it was out there, he couldn't take it back.

Today would be the day the younger hunter stood his ground. Sam knew…today it would all fall apart and they would finally come blows over it.

**So there it is. I know it's kind of dragging, but I've been trying to set things up. I hope we all enjoyed Dean's little 'accident'. My sister (my own personal Sammy – I raised her and everything) did that…believe me, its hysterical about five minutes after it happens. She's reading from another state, so it's my little shout out to her…hi Cookie!!**

**Now, I'm working on chp 7, but it might be a few days. Please keep reading!! Sam and Dean are going to hash things out and so far its much better than this chapter was!! Thank you for the reviews!!**


	7. Born of Anger

**Ooohh…Sam's angry! Okay, I know we didn't all appreciate the anger, but I was trying to throw a dash of reality into this thing. Let's face it, we're all human (even Sam and Dean) and anger is normal. I promise Dean is not forever traumatized by his brother…just read…it's like the xanax, I'm not going all balls out crazy with it!! Read, love/hate, review…easy as pie! (mmm..pie…maybe apple, or peach…peach is good)**

You try to hold it, to change it, to consume it before it consumes you.

You get burned repeatedly by the same person. He makes the same choices, chooses the same actions, follows the same path. Over and over. He pays the same price, makes the same penance, receives the same consequences. Over and over. You point it out to him, show him his errors and wrongs, always careful not to offend. He makes the same promises to be better about these things. It happens again and you feel like you are caught in a revolving door, always returning to the problem. You can't change it, he won't let you. You offer your hand, try to show him what you know that he doesn't. _I've been here, in this hole. I know how to get out. I can show you, if you let me_. But he doesn't let you. He _won't_ let you.

You've tried to hold it off, to keep it at bay. But you can't. It's fourteen years of following orders, two of protesting, another two of fighting, then four years of bliss. Now it's a year of pain and a year of this new fight that have brought you to this place. Stricken you with this ailment.

It courses through your blood like a disease. It eats away at your insides. You feel it in your fingertips, you taste it on your tongue. You know where it came from. You've seen it in him all along. It's glazing over deep green eyes with blown out pupils. It's matted into sticky spiked hair. It twitches in his biceps. You watch it ripple out when he clenches his jaw.

Anger, frustration, rage, fury, bitterness, aggravation, irritation, fear. They are his feelings and emotions, not yours. You've always claimed love, sadness, misery, depression, resentment, hope, faith. But now you've switched places. He's the one who struggles with the misery and desperation. You are enraged and bitter. And it flows out and you can't help it. You say things you shouldn't and tread where you're not welcome. But you're only human.

* * *

Dean sat completely still. He was thrown by Sam's harsh words and rash actions. His Sammy didn't behave this way. His Sammy would offer soft words and a gentle touch. Dean's brain processed all of this and sent the word to his lips, 'christo', but his heart told him not to let it go. He looked at Sam and saw that this was no possession or sickness. He made note of the tells. He saw Sam's long thin lips pursed, just at the corners. The puppy dog eyes where there, too. Not the ones that the demon had taken and tried to use, these were genuine. But they were clouded by angst and emotion. Guilt caught up to Dean. Not only was he falling, but he was dragging Sam over the edge with him.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked gently.

Long breath out, "Yeah, I'm fine. I don't know…"

Sam picked up his coffee and took a sip of the rapidly cooling liquid. He counted to ten and tried to get a hold of himself and his emotions. He looked around the room, counting the ridiculous cat decorations on the walls, memorizing the fire escape route pasted to the back of the door. Anything not to look at Dean right now.

The kid looked calmer, so Dean dove right in. "You gonna tell me what that was all about?"

Dean was wrong. Sam was not calmer. "It was about you Dean. About this dance we've been doing all this time. It's about me not doing it anymore".

"What are you talking about?" Dean added confusion to the list of emotions that consumed him now.

"I'm angry Dean. I am angry because I am so damn tired of being worried and scared and concerned. Anger is just the only emotion I have left".

"You and I … we look out for each other. Guns drawn, step lightly, you take the east and I go west, listen for each other, watch out for the baddies. But that's as far as the give and take goes. I can't keep doing it that way". Sam's emotions ran high and he knew if he didn't hash this out now he'd never have the strength to do it again.

"I don't follow Sammy".

"You lie to me all of the time Dean. You lie about your injuries and your feelings and I am left to clean up after all the messes you make. You promised me you'd shoot if it came to it, but you were lying then. You don't trust me. You choose to listen to strangers and take information from news clippings before things blow up in our faces and we have to back track. I tell you to go left, you go right. I tell you something is a bad idea or a bad plan and you ignore me. You claim you know better because you are older, and we end up on the run, hiding from the consequences of your actions".

Sam was pacing like a caged animal. His heart was thumping hard and he was starting to sweat a little. Adrenaline was running through his blood. He stopped and pointed an angry finger at Dean, using all of his height and weight to propel his argument and its validity at his elder.

"You have this stubborn streak that you either inherited through genetics or maybe it was twenty-two years of being dad's perfect warrior. I know you were taught to never allow a chink in your armor, never to leave an opening or show a weakness, but it's not working for you anymore, it's working against you, and you are so far gone you can't see it". 'Deep breaths Sam'.

"You have this habit of always hiding things from me, and apparently, you hide things from yourself, too. You hid the truth about what Dad told you for months. You told me you couldn't remember any of the things that happened after the accident. But the truth of the matter is that you wouldn't allow yourself to remember any of it. And now, it's come back to bite you in the ass. And all of this, the panic and the pain and the torture. It could have been avoided. You could have dealt with it and put it behind you. But you couldn't man up. You tucked it away and now it's killing you and that kills me".

All of the things Sammy had been holding on to for so long were rushing out of him like a river breaching its levee. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to. And right now he didn't want to. Dean just sat in his chair, listening and watching Sam.

"I want to help you but you won't let me help you. You give everything you have to everyone else. You put your life on the line for complete strangers, but you won't let me so much as put a band-aid on a cut unless you're unconscious. You have no friends, no life, and you just plug along like those things don't matter".

Sam's eyes went moist and he could feel the tears pooling, his throat going slick. "You want to save me, but you won't try to save yourself. You want to die for the cause like some kind of martyr". Sam dropped on to the bed behind him and rubbed his temples, "But I won't have it Dean. None of it. Not anymore. Not now and not in the future".

* * *

For all the similarities, Dean knew that he and Sam were very different people. On one hand they both those Winchester eyes and the cleft chin. They dressed the same, liked the same kind of women, both of them liked strawberry ice cream the best. Both missed their parents enough to occasionally loose sleep over it, both liked to drive at a consistent speed of seventy-five miles per hour, and though they'd never say it, each one idolized the other.

But on the other hand were the differences. Dean talked. A lot. At least until he needed to be talking, then he'd clam up and his from his brother and the world. Sam never spoke unless it was necessary, always quiet and contemplative. But when something was tugging at his heart, or hurting his soul, Sam would ramble on and try to sort it out. Dean is '_locked and loaded, come out guns blazing_ and Sam is more '_stay calm and give it time_.

So Dean didn't understand where this side of Sam was coming from. All the things Sam had said rang in Dean's head. They were all true and they hurt. Didn't Sam get it? None of this was Dean's choice.

"So that's it, huh?" Cold green eyes bore a hole in Sam. "You think I'm doing this to myself… all of it… on purpose. You think after all these years I've decided to suddenly go chick on you and have a nervous break down?"

"That is not what I said", Sam countered quickly.

"You're always digging for a heart to heart. Well little brother, you get it now so shut up and listen".

Dean dug his heels in to the cheap carpet and thick fingers moved through his hair.

"My life ended twenty-three years ago. I had it all, Sam. A mom, a dad, a brother, a house with a yard. Then boom, it's all gone. I had to learn how to be an adult that year. Somebody had to feed you and change you and rock you to sleep. Someone had to be there to cook for dad, and take the bottle of Jack away when he'd had enough, and remind him he was a father. How do you think a kid does all that? You shut down and you hold back and you focus on the making sure the people you love are happy, always before yourself".

Dean's heart was starting to beat harder, but he was fine. He was going to state his case and walk away from this better than he had come in.

"I don't lie to you Sam. I may not tell you everything and I may keep certain details and elements to myself, but it's only because it's what in know to do. I don't need you fussing over me every time I get a little hurt, because if I allow it once you'll expect it all of the time. All of that stuff, it's my job. I take care of you, not the other way around. And trusting others is just a product of being on the hunt without you. You left all of this behind and I had to learn how to do it all on my own, and that meant trusting others for information. It doesn't mean I don't believe you know what you're doing or that someone's does it better".

"Okay", Sam whispered, "But what about hiding things from me? I mean, why didn't you tell me what Dad asked you to do? How could you keep that from me?"

"I can count the number of people I love on one hand", Dean held up his right hand and pointed his fingers one by one. "Mom, Dad, Sammy. Mom has been gone for so long and I still miss her. Then Dad went and did what he did and I lost him too". Dean drew a sharp breath.

"When he asked me to watch out for you, it was an easy thing to agree to because it's the thing I do best. Then he leaned into my ear and told me to save you or kill you and said not to say anything. I couldn't look at him and say no, I thought I'd have a chance later to talk him out of this nonsense. But I was wrong".

"Then Dad was gone and it was just you and me. I never apologized Sammy", wet eyes looked at the younger man perched on the bed. "When Dad died I shut down and I wasn't there for you like I should have been. You were hurting and I could see it and I could feel it, but I was trying so hard not to let myself be dragged down to that place I had gone to when Mom died. I was a bad friend and a horrible brother and I am so sorry for that Sam. You needed the simple things, like a hug or a kind word, but I just left you there in that house with Bobby all the time. I don't expect you to forgive me for such a transgression, but I am offering the apology all the same".

"Don't Dean. It doesn't matter now", Sam offered.

"And not telling you about what Dad said…I couldn't put that on you. I knew you weren't okay and I thought that one more thing, especially something like that, would just send you hurtling over the edge. And I didn't know if I could bring you back. So I took it all. I knew I could carry the load".

Dean wasn't crying but his heart and lungs were competing against each other, draining Dean's energy and making breathing a chore.

"You are the most important thing in this world. You are the only person I have left. And I know you need me to hold to that promise I made in Connecticut, but I just can't Sammy. I can't kill you. I know that no matter what happens you and I are gonna come out on the other side because it's what we do. So please", Dean started to cry silent tears and his breathing was erratic, "Please don't ask me to do that. I just can't lose you Sammy".

Sam moved from the bed to crouch down in front of Dean. "Alright Dean, just calm down and breathe. Come on, deep breath in. Hold it just a second, good. Now breathe out. Yeah, just like that. Listen you should just relax for now, okay? Take it easy. You want to go back outside and have another smoke?"

Dean didn't know what to do, so he nodded his head. "You gonna come with me?"

"Yeah Dean, I'll come with you". Sam smiled and allowed Dean the room he needed to get up.

The two Winchesters sat on the pavement outside while Dean lit a red and puffed the smoke out in long forceful blows. Sam was silent. He looked around the parking lot and occasionally at Dean, noticing the years that the last few days had put on Dean.

Dean blew out a long white stream of smoke. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I'm not supposed to be scared of anything, but I am. I just don't know where I am anymore or where I am going. And I feel suffocated, all of the time".

"I know Dean", Sam laid a sympathetic hand on his brothers shoulder, and to his surprise it was not brushed off.

"No, you don't Sammy. I am so scared. I know I have to save you, but I don't know how to. And it's all coming…I can feel it Sammy. And I don't know what to do".

Dean's head hung low and his shoulders jerked as he tried to breathe normally.

"Don't worry Dean. I'm watching out for both of us. We'll figure it out".

The words that passed Sam's lips were so simple. Barely more than mumblings, but they comforted Dean and in them he found the resolve to keep pushing through.

**Love it? Hate it?? I hope everyone understood Sam's anger. Sometimes at the end of the day, anger is all you have left. Moving on…only a few chapters left and then I'm putting this baby to bed. Hope you like it!! Thank you to my loyal readers…like Peanut, Katie, and Heather! You guys rock my socks!! Keep reviewing! Thanx for reading!! Chp 8…coming eventually!!**


	8. I'm Not Angry, I won't leave

**Yeah!! Chapter 8! This thing is almost done and I thought I'd never see the end of it! My muse took the week off, so this one might drag a little. But fear not…one more chapter AND my muse came back to me this afternoon…so the final chapter should be good. But like I've said before, I am a little biased. Anyway, read and review! Thanx for hanging in with me!!**

Free will. Our decisions steer our fate, change our path in life, guide our destiny. The road we choose to travel is our own, for better or for worse. A choice to ride west with the setting sun or a choice to head east, awaiting the rise of the celestial star. East or west, you travel this road of your own volition. It's on this road that you find out who you are and carve out your future. And when you fear that others do not approve or consent to your chosen path, remember that you may not have accepted their choice either. But to each their own.

* * *

Dean looked out into the parking lot. The sun was beaming down on him, fighting against the crisp February air. He took a long drag on his cigarette before blowing the smoke into the expanse and turning his head to acknowledge Sam's hand still resting on his shoulder. 

"I'm alright Sammy. You don't have to do all this. You can leave, I get that you're mad". Dean heard the words floating between he and his brother and wanted to fight against them. _If you leave I'm alone and I have no purpose._

Sam dropped his hand and cocked his head inquisitively at Dean. "We should get out of here for a while", he let the words settle. "Why don't we go grab some food or something? Maybe just take a drive".

A faint smile fell on soft lips. "Yeah, food sounds good". Dean flicked his cigarette and watched it fly through the air and land in the parking lot next to a green Toyota.

* * *

Steady feet made their way from the sprawling parking lot to the confines of the rented room. It was the same room they had been in all along, but somehow it was different now. Cat decorations still hung on the walls that were painted an awful shade of green. The TV still sat in front of the well-worn couch and coffee table. The fluorescent lights still shone down in an unforgiving fashion. But it was different. The air was different…lighter. It was as though the floor and walls had listened to the exchange the boys had earlier, and changed to accommodate the change between the brothers. 

"You've been in the same clothes for two days. Why don't you go shower and change?" Sam was picking up the mess he had left behind earlier, pouring cold coffee down the sink and stuffing his trash back in the brown bag.

"Yeah", Dean looked down at his shirt, stretched and stiff from sweat and tears. "I'll wash up, just give me a few minutes".

And with that the brothers parted and collectively sighed. Content in the outcome of the mornings prodding, but relieved to each be alone for a moment to gather their thoughts.

* * *

Dean showered and Sam busied himself cleaning the room and making the beds. When the room was cleared of all the trash and strewn clothes, Sam settled on the couch and let his mind wonder to all of the things he had said and done to Dean. He wondered if it was over, if Dean had finally faced everything that had transpired in those few days in Shiloh County. Would Dean finally be Dean again? _Come on college boy, no more chick flick moments _and_ bitch_. 

It was thirty minutes before Dean emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed, towel in hand. His hair was still a little wet and his skin was pink from the heat of the shower. "You ready to go, Sammy?"

"Huh", Sam was jostled from his contemplative trance, "Yeah, how 'bout that diner down the street? Or I saw a pizza place just outside of town". He was mumbling and fumbling, trying to hold onto his strong façade.

"Diner's good", Dean grabbed his black jacket and slipped it on, noting the stitching on the shoulder where the demon's bullet had ripped the fabric apart.

* * *

Early afternoon found two Winchesters straddling different sides of a booth in a relatively new diner, shrouded in silence. Neither had spoken during the ride through town. Sam had simply held tight to the wheel and focused on the road while Dean found something on the passenger side door obscenely fascinating. So the first to speak would be the teenaged waitress who bound up to the table and broke the silence. "What can I get for you?" 

Sam's eyes quickly caught the girls glare. "Uh, I'll just have whatever your special is and an iced tea. Dean?"

Dean's attention was not to be found. He was concentrating on the fender of the impala parked just outside of the window.

"He'll have a cheeseburger with extra onions, fires, and a coke. Thank you". Sam smiled politely and turned his focus to Dean as the waitress walked away.

"Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean's head turned in a snap and he started to scoot out of the booth. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna hit the head before the waitress gets here. Order me a burger and a coke".

"Dean the…" Sam started, but didn't have a chance to tell his brother he had missed the waitress before Dean walked away. _What the hell now?_

* * *

Dean took his time in the bathroom, opting for a stall. He closed the door and latched it before he closed the lid on the commode and sat down. His elbows dug into his knees and his head felt heavy on his hands. _Did I really say those things to Dad?_ He questioned himself. His shower came back to him, and the memory of rushing water brought back his grief. 

He had stood under the flow of water, just rinsing sweat and grime from his body. His mind trailed to what Sam had said. He had spoken against Dean's insistence to fight to the death to save him. He felt the way Dean had felt about Dad's death. Dean didn't want John to die for him, and now Sammy was facing that same pain and fear. Dean had focused on all the good his father had done for him and others in his lifetime. He comforted himself with the respect he had for his father. But as the water rushed over him his mind tortured him again.

He felt the fear of death and leaving the fight too soon. He could see himself standing in front of his own bed. His father's motionless and tattered form filling a wheelchair at the bedside. Dean heard his own voice pleading and berating John. He chastised him for not calling friends for help, not making a show of his effort to save his first born. He had yelled and implied that John wasn't a good father. And then, standing in that suffocating shower, Dean knew that John had done the most selfless thing a father could do. He had given his life to save that of his child. Dean prayed his father had not heard him and didn't know how selfish Dean had been in his moment of weakness.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at the door to the stall and felt his stomach turn and jerk. He stood quickly and lifted the lid on the commode as he spun around. He retched and heaved into the toilet. When his stomach had turned itself out and reproduced the bits of sandwich and bagel he had eaten the previous day, Dean stood and braced himself against the door. He kicked the handle on the toilet and opened the stall. At the sink he splashed his face with water and rinsed out his mouth till he couldn't taste bile anymore.

* * *

Dean had been gone for almost fifteen minutes and the food had been waiting for five when Sam decided to check on his brother. But as he stood, Dean appeared at the length of the diner, slowly making his way back to the table. Sam sat and watched Dean's slow gait and felt concern build in his chest.

"You okay? I thought I might need to go in there with rope and fish you out". Sam tried humor. Dean almost always responded to humor.

"I'm good. Just took me longer than I thought it would", Dean wasn't really lying. When he had escaped to the privacy of the bathroom he had meant only to catch his breath and clear his mind. He looked down at the burger and fries and pushed the plate away from him, "Ya know, I'm not really hungry. We should get a box for this".

Sam just nodded and pushed his meatloaf and home fries around his plate. "Yeah, just let me finish up and I'll take you back to the motel. You look like you could use some rest".

"Well, eat up Sparky". Dean picked up his coke and sipped it slowly. He eyed the ashtray on the table for a moment before producing the box of Marlboros and his zippo. He tapped a smoke out of the box and lit it, taking a long pull.

"All of this bothered you enough to get you smoking again?" Sam asked innocently.

Dean shrugged and blew a plume of smoke over Sam's head.

"Well, that's fine for now, but when that pack is gone you're done with it. That's enough of this shit". Sam tapped the box on the table.

"Yeah, fine". Dean didn't even attempt to argue with his brother, though he surely could have slipped in a good verbal thrashing. 'Don't tell me what to do Geek.' Or 'Stuff it Sam. I'm a grown man and I can make my own decisions.'

Sam kept a trained eye on his brother. Clearly this was not a hurtle they had cleared. Dean was fighting something inside and after all they had been through he was still going to keep it buried inside.

Sam shoveled food into his mouth and waved at the waitress. "Can we get the check and a box?"

* * *

Having paid the tab and gathered Dean's lunch into a to-go box, the boys made their way out of the diner and into the car. Dean had not spoken since his trip to the bathroom, so as Sam pulled out of the parking lot he looked at Dean, "You want to talk?"

Dean seemed to take offense and shot a look back at his brother, "Why you want to scream some more?"

"Sorry. I just thought…" But Sam stopped himself before he said something else to agitate Dean.

And so the trip to the motel mirrored the trip to the diner. No one spoke and eyes never met.

* * *

Dean slipped out of the car in front of the motel and didn't wait for Sam. He just went straight into the room and collapsed on the bed. By the time Sam made it inside Dean was laid out with his eyes closed.

Sam stepped lightly, not wanting to bother Dean. Apparently he did need some sleep. He shed his jacket and kicked off his boots before settling in front of the television…again. It was becoming a crutch for both boys. _You don't want to talk to your brother or face the things that are bothering you? Replace your own thoughts with the droning coming from the TV._

Sam was about ten minutes into an episode of 'Hogan's Heroes' when he heard Dean stir. He leaned over the back of the couch to get a look at Dean. He was sitting up on the bed, arms behind himself for support. He was studying the stitching of his jeans, then abruptly looked up at Sam.

"I told Dad he was a bad father before he died".

**Okay my lovelies…how is that?? I know the last two chapters kind of blew…but here's hoping you are still out there reading. Chapter 9 should go up Tuesday and that will be it! Please review!! You guys rock my sox!!**


	9. Just One Last Chick Flick Moment

**Ahh!! Last chapter. It was starting to feel like Dawson's Creek…so much talking about your emotions (those poor kids had to be tired all the time…talking in circles like that). So I hope no one is disappointed in this fiction. I was my first long one…and I really enjoyed it!! Anyway…thank you for reading and reviewing. My faithful readers hold a special place in my heart and you know who you are…thank you thank you! You guys all rock my sox! Now go forth and read….**

Months ago, on a mountain road, Dean acknowledged what his father had done for him. He hadn't accepted it or dealt with it, but his mind had made some kind of decision to recognize the gesture. His heart was a different story. His heart kept the act of love at arms length. He let it get to him that afternoon on the road and after that pain, he couldn't let it happen again. But now he had no choice. His mind and his heart were working together against him, pushing it all to the surface, not giving him any place to push it back down to.

Sammy knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that his father had given his life for Dean. He appreciated what John had done more than anyone would ever be able to comprehend. But oddly, at the same time, he held it against John. He knew John did what he did out of love, but it had broken Dean and Sam mourned for his brother. Dean had been strong for his father his entire life, never showing emotion, always following orders. _Feed Sammy, clean that shotgun, do those dishes, kill that demon, put your brother to bed_. But now, months after the fact and miles down the road, Dean was different. He watched Dean ride this hard line everyday. _Brother, protector, mentor_. He saw Dean struggle through every hunt trying to hold on to what was left of the him he knew. Sam saw the hesitation and fear in his brother's eyes when he asked Dean for the answers. He knew Dean didn't have them and he knew Dean was terrified because he was in charge now. And all those things made him so much more to Sam than just a big brother. _Love of my life, best friend, confidant_.

* * *

The words had fallen effortlessly from Dean's lips. _I told Dad he was a bad father before he died. _ But when he heard the words floating through the air he wanted to take them back and hide them away. He feared Sam would think less of him, be disgusted by the way he castigated someone he said he loved.

"What are you talking about Dean? When did you say that to dad?" Sam spoke softly.

Dean sat up on the bed and fingered the blankets in front of him. "In the hospital I had a lot of time think about what had happened and what was happening and what could happen. I watched you and dad and I saw you coming and going and doing the only things you could. I never saw Dad make a move to help me and it was driving me mad. I couldn't understand how he could just let me go. You were scared, I know, but you came and talked to me. And I could hear you and it kept me here. But Dad…when he finally came to see me, he just sat in a wheelchair and looked at me. He didn't say anything to me or even touch me".

Dean was trying not to look at Sam. He knew what he was about to say was a shameful thing. His father had died for him and he had yelled and told him off. Dean was certain that this would be the one thing that could change the way Sam saw him. He would be less of a man in his brother's eyes once he knew.

"I just went off on him. I threw it all in his face, you know? All the things I had done, all of the stuff I had given up for him, I screamed and I used it all against him".

Sam stood and moved to the edge of the bed, staring intently at a man who wouldn't look back. He wanted to absorb every word and see every emotion on Dean's face.

"I told him that I had given everything for the fight and never wanted anything in return. I begged him to talk to me, to acknowledge me. I yelled and…"

He had to stop. He had to breathe. He had to focus on what he was doing…telling his brother the truth about the bad son he really was. Not looking Sammy in the eye.

"I never thought he was a bad father, I swear. I understand why he was the way he was. I know he had reasons for doing things the way he did them. I never once questioned his intentions or his love for us. But one of the last things I did was admonish him for being something he wasn't. A bad father".

Sam leaned forward in an attempt to get a look at his brother's anguished eyes, but Dean turned his head away in refusal. "Dean". It was a plead, the same way 'Sammy' was.

But the elder Winchester wasn't giving in that easy.

"Look", Sam started, "You were dying. You were walking around outside of your body, scared for yourself and for dad and me. You didn't mean it. I know you didn't, you know you didn't, and hell…dad didn't even hear you. He knows you loved him".

"It's not that easy to fix, Sammy", Dean stated flatly.

Sam thought for just a moment. How did they break through concrete? It must be the same process when trying to get through Dean's thick, overly macho, self-deprecating skull. Then it hit him like one of Dean's dirty t-shirts flying across a motel room.

"Dean, do you remember when you were about fifteen and you would get those really bad migraines?" Sam asked casually.

"Yeah, and?"

"And you remember that trip to Maine? I researched that attack in Monroe for nearly two weeks and Dad agreed to let me come out with you guys. Then you got one of your migraines and it was really bad."

Sam could picture Dean sitting in the dark kitchen with sunglasses on, barely able to sit up at the table. It wasn't pleasant, but it was a memory that tied him to his brother and his father in a happier time so it made him smile.

"You couldn't go out on the hunt and Dad didn't want you to be alone, so I had to stay with you while Dad went after the thing by himself".

Dean scoffed at the memory. "Yeah, I remember you bitched and whined for two days straight before I finally blacked out".

"Yeah, and when you blacked out I thought you were sleeping. And that's when I took the opportunity to tell you what a jerk you were being for not sucking it up and getting on with the hunt. I can remember sitting on the floor and telling you how you were being a baby and you needed to just take an aspirin and move on, that you were ruining my chance to prove to dad that I could do more than clean weapons and make coffee".

Sam reflected on the memory, one he could have gone his whole life without sharing with his brother. "I told you at least a dozen times how much I hated you for it".

Dean knew exactly what Sam was doing. "It's not the same thing Sammy".

"Yeah, Dean. It is. When Dad got back that Tuesday night he realized that you were unconscious, not asleep. He was all over that motel room getting washcloths and aspirin and coaxing you awake. I had never felt so bad before in my life. You were in pain and unconscious and I was calling you names and hating you. You could have died for all I knew".

"Sam, you didn't know. And you didn't mean it, you were just mad". And just as the words left Dean's mouth they came back on him ten fold. He finally looked up and faced Sam's eyes. To his genuine surprise there was no judgment, no condemnation. Just love. "Pretty slick there, Sammy-boy".

"Yeah, well", Sam offered a smile. "You know Dad loved you, and you know you didn't mean what you said, Dean. You just need to forgive yourself".

Dean looked at Sam and chuckled at what he realized.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing", Dean replied, "it's just…that demon was right".

"What are you talking about?" Sam was honestly confused.

"You really do have dewy, sensitive eyes", Dean laughed knowing Sam wouldn't remember the show down and the way the demon mocked Sam.

Sam shook his head at his brother. He had no idea what Dean was talking about, but it had put a smile on his brother's face and that was what was important. He looked at Dean through a veil of long eyelashes, "So, is there anything else you need to talk about? I mean, did you say anything else to Dad…or me?"

"No. I didn't say anything to you that I haven't told you about. I mean…I thanked you for not giving up on me. I told you the quija board was stupid. I think I've gotten it out of my system". He looked at Sam and took a deep breath. He was going to say it and he was going to sound like such a chick. "I think it's over, ya know? I think I have finally faced my demons".

"Good", Sam stood and clapped his brother on the back. He went to the kitchen and came back with two beers and Dean's box of lunch. He opened his beer and put the other on the nightstand next to Dean. He thrust the box into his siblings hands, "So why don't you eat this and we can get looking for a gig".

They sat quietly drinking their beer. Dean ate his burger and Sam nipped at his brother's fries. Glances were exchanged across the void between them. Sam had pulled out the laptop for the first time in days and was looking diligently for a job, far away from this motel and this town. He had enough of this place and wanted to put it behind him so that he and Dean could move on.

Dean just ate, occasionally looking at his brother. He had been so good to him. He had listened to him bitch like a chick, put up with his panic attacks and even though Dean thought he deserved it, Sam hadn't judged him. He closed the Styrofoam box and drained the last of the beer from his bottle before rising from the bed. He clapped his brother on the back and when Sam's head rose Dean looked into his brother's bright eyes and said the only thing he had in his vocabulary that would work. "Thank you, Sam. For everything…all of it".

Sam saw the expression and the emotion and knew what it meant. He knew the words meant _'thank you for pulling me through this'_ and he could read those deep green specs like a book. Dean's eyes were telling his brother what words could never say. _love you_ and _I'm working on it_ and _I really needed you_ and most importantly _I'm still here little brother_.

But Dean didn't let it go there. He had to do this properly or he'd never forgive himself. "Bitch"

Sammy just smiled, "Jerk"

**Awww! Big huggies for Sammy and Deanie! Well my lovelies, that's it…it's over. Dean is all fixed up…sort of. And I have a new fiction in the works already…so please try to get to that one, too. Should be up soon! Thanx for reading!!**


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